


Unspoken

by Zanate56



Category: The Revenant (2016)
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanate56/pseuds/Zanate56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glass and Hawk have never needed words, not when their hearts have already said everything that needs to be said between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

Words had never been needed between them, and when they chose to speak of matters pertaining only to themselves it was always in Pawnee. English was the language of their minds, but to Glass and Hawk Pawnee was, and always would be, the language of love between them. It had been from the first, when Glass had comforted his son in the days following the raid on their settlement. Whenever Hawk had awoken, shaking and crying with pain from his burned face and the memory of his mother’s dead body, Glass had pulled his son close and whispered reassurances to him. It is only when Glass needs to make his son understand something vitally important that he reverts to English, the strange yet familiar syllables standing out clearly in Hawk’s mind. Pawnee is like the murmuring of a soothing brook, but English is like a clap of thunder, jarring in its unexpected appearance.

“You are my son. You are _my son,_ ” Glass murmurs in Hawk’s ear after another ugly remark about his parentage from a stranger. It is a simple statement, but the depth of feeling underneath the rough syllables warms Hawk’s heart more than the fire that burns between them.

And sometimes, when it is Glass who stirs and shifts restlessly with his own night time demons, it is Hawk who wraps his father into his arms and murmurs soft words in Pawnee until his father stills again. 

There was nothing that they could say to one another, in any spoken language, that they didn’t already speak in touches and looks. A gentle stroke of Hawk’s scarred cheek from his father’s rough but gentle hand, Hawk playfully tugging on his father’s hair in a rare moment of mischievousness – no, words were not needed when they already knew the language of each other’s hearts.


End file.
